


a complex fool and a simplex fool

by spells



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Doukyuusei AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:36:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25803739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spells/pseuds/spells
Summary: Akaashi thinks about the softness in Bokuto's voice when he sings, and the way he gestures slowly when he guides Akaashi through the notes.Akaashi stops to think about how Bokuto’s his first love.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 8
Kudos: 29
Collections: Bokuaka Week 2020





	a complex fool and a simplex fool

Akaashi looks.

When he sings, Bokuto’s voice changes a bit. Akaashi can’t exactly tell if it goes lower, if it goes more harmonic, if it goes a bit more nasal, whatever – the musician between the two of them is Bokuto, after all. When he sings, his face relaxes, not smiling or frowning, as if singing is an emotion, a facial expression. When he sings, his movements are slow, his Adam’s apple bobbing languidly, following the notes, like it’s pushing the air out of him, like it shapes the sounds with shaky hands.

Bokuto looks at him back. He furrows his brow, “Akaashi? You good?”

Akaashi looks down at the score, at the notes. They don’t make that much sense to him, even as he memorises that  _ this is a do, this is a mi _ . Everything is still kind of blurry, jumbled up, all the same. “Um…”

“Look,” Bokuto points, like it’s easy, like it makes any damn sense, “the piano goes down here, but we’re not singing, see? The note cuts short right here.”

Akaashi sings, tries to, and Bokuto smiles.

“The tone is a bit off. Try it like this.”

Bokuto sings, and Akaashi tries to sing in tune with him; Bokuto interrupts him, again and again, softly, gesturing something as if the note is something you can touch, as if Akaashi would be able to get it if he just grabbed onto the sound waves-

“That’s good,” Bokuto gives him a thumbs up, and when he stops singing, crashes off note, “no, no, keep going! You’re doing great!”

Akaashi picks himself back up, starts from the beginning of the line, and Bokuto closes his eyes and moves his head along with his singing. Akaashi struggles a bit to keep singing, because he wants to immortalise this sight of Bokuto in his brain. Relaxed, leaning back, the afternoon sun freezing him in amber, eyes closed and humming along to the music. Akaashi finishes the song, and Bokuto opens his eyes immediately.

“You’re better at this than I am!”

“Ah, not quite, Bokuto-san…”

“C’mon, totally,” Bokuto grins. He picks up their papers, their sparkling waters, and hands Akaashi his. “You’re gonna have to make a special feature at one of our shows.”

Akaashi stands up, wipes dust off his pants, and puts his papers in his bag.

“I haven’t even been to a concert before,” he laughs. The two of them start making their way out of school, going down the stairs and towards the gates.

“What? No way. Akaashi, you plan on graduating without ever going to a concert? What sort of teenager are you?”

“I don’t know… I guess I’m just busy. There’s always something to study for, a priority.”

“Ah, you still have to have fun, Akaashi! You can’t live off studying alone.”

“I think I’m doing fine, Bokuto-san. I’ve never had a problem.”

“Aha!” Bokuto turns, fingerguns him. Akaashi raises an eyebrow. “You did have a problem. You sang the song wrong, were going to keep singing it wrong if you just practiced by yourself, and then I came in, your guardian angel!”

“My… Sure, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi rolls his eyes, holds his bag strap a little tighter. “Thank you.”

“No prob-” Bokuto winks and stops half-way, seems to see something. Akaashi follows his gaze, looks at the time on the school’s clock. When he turns back around, Bokuto’s sprinting down the road, waving back at Akaashi, yelling, “I’m sorry, Akaashi! I’m late! See ya!”

Bokuto stumbles, his limbs too long for himself, and Akaashi smiles. Akaashi watches him turn a corner, disappear from view.

On his way home, Akaashi thinks about the day they met. Thinks about sitting on his desk, the classroom empty, surprisingly cool when it was so warm outside, the cicadas singing, the curtains billowing, even with the faintest breeze. Thinks about how he whispered, how he breathed the lyrics, impossibly quiet, and how he turned around immediately when the door clanged open.

Akaashi thinks about Bokuto coming into the classroom, hesitant but enthusiastic, always enthusiastic, always bright and sunny. Thinks about the way Bokuto chatted him up, asked why he didn’t sing in class, explained the score to him. The way he smiled when Akaashi mentioned his band.

Thinks about the softness in Bokuto’s exhilarating, eager voice, the way he spoke slowly, unsurely, when he asked if Akaashi wanted his help to practice the song. If Akaashi would mind.

Thinks about the soft light in his eyes when Akaashi turned, confused, but nodded. Thinks about the peachy pink color, the salmon color, up in his cheeks.

Practicing with Bokuto is so nice, maybe that’s the issue. Maybe the issue is that Akaashi doesn’t feel like he has to hold back with him, feels comfortable, feels like he’s made a friend for once. Bokuto never criticises him, only corrects him, cheers him on. Bokuto smiles and makes jokes, Bokuto always seems to be late for something by the time they’re heading home, Bokuto nudges him and slides closer, day by day.

The day before the choir festival, they meet up one last time.

Akaashi already feels nostalgic, even if they haven’t stopped seeing each other, even if they won’t stop seeing each other – one way or another, they’re classmates, they're in each other's day to day. Still, he knows it’ll be different, from now on. Akaashi stands in front of the vending machine, waiting for the sparkling waters to roll out, and thinks about it.

“Here you go, Bokuto-san.” Their fingers touch when Bokuto takes the bottle, and Akaashi thinks about the look in his face, minutes earlier, when Akaashi finished singing and he said,  _ perfect! _

“You didn’t have to buy me this, Akaashi.”

Akaashi sits down beside him, smiling softly.

“It’s a thank you. Thank you for bearing with me for this long. Even though I sang poorly, and all. Thank you.”

Akaashi looks at him, and he looks like so much that he can’t read, looks at him and wonders if he has said something wrong, done something wrong. If his singing wasn’t perfect, after all. He smiles wider, hesitant, tries to get some of normal Bokuto back into him, and Bokuto takes him by the neck and kisses him.

It’s a surprise, so much so that Akaashi doesn’t stop to process it. Doesn’t close his eyes, doesn’t lean in, doesn’t kiss him back. Akaashi simply lets himself be kissed, Bokuto’s eyes closed, eyebrows scrunched, a tension in his face Akaashi has never seen before.

Bokuto pulls away. He opens his eyes like he doesn’t want to, opens his eyes like he’s hoping something about the world has changed.

Akaashi hasn’t, can’t, react.

“Fuck,” Bokuto says, his eyes desperately scanning Akaashi’s face, looking for something, anything. Akaashi doesn’t know what to give him, doesn’t know what he wants. “I’m sorry,” he stands up, picks up his bag, starts shuffling backwards, tripping on the steps, “I’m sorry, Akaashi!”

Bokuto runs away. For some reason, when he’s probably too far away for Akaashi to reach, he calls after him, “Bokuto-san-!”, even though he knows it's to no avail.

Akaashi tries to find it in his brain, tries to find how this makes him feel, tries to see if some of him processed the way the kiss went, the way his lips felt. He touches his lips and feels the vague, almost invisible aftertaste of the sparkling water, the ghost sensation of the bubbles fizzling on his tongue. Akaashi wonders if he wanted this. Wonders if he should’ve kissed him back, and if he’s just been crazy foolish.

Before the performance, and even as they get up on stage, Akaashi doesn’t look at Bokuto, doesn’t want to see him. After a lot – a lot – of thinking, the night before, he realised what everything had meant. He realised Bokuto had probably meant it all as some sort of joke, and then regretted it at the very end. Realised it’d be better if they left each other alone from now on.

Akaashi sings. Akaashi sings, but every word is like a different sensation, a different memory crossing through his mind. The way Bokuto gestured to guide him through transitions, the way he’d hum a note for Akaashi to harmonise with him. The soft afternoon light on his hair, his frosted tips glittering silver with the sunset, like some sort of rich metal alloy. The condensation sliding down as drops on the exterior of their sparkling water bottles, the way the water would soothe his throat after he’d been singing more than he had his whole life.

The end of the song feels like it symbolises more than just, well, the end of the song. Feels like it symbolises the end of an era, the end of golden hours and blue skies. God, Akaashi feels miserable.

He sits back down in the crowd and it’s as if he loses all control of his body, his limbs multiplying in weight, and he can’t move. He doesn’t try to raise his head, because there’s nothing he wants to look at. He looks down, and wishes things never had to end.

“Akaashi, right?”

Akaashi lifts his head. Looking at him is Bokuto’s friend, his bandmate, and Akaashi isn’t exactly sure what his name is. “Yeah.”

“Have you seen Bo?”

“What? No.”

“He was coming with me here, then he said he had to do something and vanished. I thought, maybe he had told you?”

“No, um…” Akaashi’s heart races. He thinks of sad Bokuto, of where he could be. Figures this could have something to do with last night. Akaashi thinks of last night, and decides that they should talk about it, decides it’s better if they talk about it to each other than for it to spread, all-boys-school rumours. “I’ll go looking for him.”

“Thanks, man.”

Akaashi stands, his body once again his all of a sudden, like a spring bouncing back once it's let go of, and makes his way through the crowd to go outside. There’s a teacher at the gymnasium door, and he frowns, “Where are you going?”

“Bathroom.”

“Don’t be long,” the teacher says, takes a step to the side, and Akaashi rushes past him.

Akaashi doesn’t know where to look. He runs up to their classroom, but Bokuto’s not there; he checks in the school’s entry hall, through lockers filled with sneakers; checks on the roof, runs by the baseball fields and tennis court.

He finds Bokuto sitting, head in his hands, by the staircase they used to practice on. There’s a cicada singing, somewhere, and Akaashi feels the wind blowing leaves at his feet.

“Bokuto-san?”

Bokuto raises his head. Akaashi sees that he’s been crying, his eyes a soft shade of pink, desperation flashing through them. Akaashi comes closer, slowly, and sits down next to him.

“Are you okay?”

“God, Akaashi…” Bokuto chuckles, sadly. Akaashi frowns, worries.

“What happened?”

“God!” Bokuto puts his face in his hands again, but now it looks like it’s out of stress; he runs his hands through his hair, sighs, groans. “I like you so much, Akaashi!”

Akaashi feels his eyes widen, his eyebrows shooting up. He feels his heart stop, and then race.

“I like you so much! I’m so sorry! I’m sorry for kissing you, I’m sorry for not asking! I’m sorry for all my ulterior motives!”

“Bokuto-san…” Akaashi reaches for him, puts his hand on his shoulder. Bokuto, who had been yelling between his fingers, who had been shaking his head with each sentence, emphasising his feelings, stands completely still. “You don’t have to apologise.”

Bokuto turns to him, dislodging his hand, and peeks from behind his fingers.

Akaashi tries to smile. Looks away, because he feels himself giddy, unsteady. “I never… Said I minded.”

“Akaashi…?” Bokuto pulls his hands away from his face, hesitant. His eyes are shining – Akaashi looks away, again, feeling something revolving in his stomach, like butterflies, like vomit. “Are you saying-?”

“Akaashi! Where are you?”

They both turn, stark, when they hear the teacher’s voice, and soon his steps. Bokuto turns back to Akaashi, frowning. He whispers, frantic, “Why is he looking for you?”

“I don’t know! I said I’d go to the bathroom! How did you leave?”

“Well, I just sneaked myself out-”

“Akaashi! Come on, where are you?”

Bokuto stands, then, and pulls Akaashi by the wrist. They hide inside the gym supplies shed, Bokuto looking out through a gap between the doors, whispering to Akaashi, “Shh, shh, he’s here! Wait- Wait, he’s walking away- Oh, okay, we’re safe.”

Akaashi lets out a big, long breath, and Bokuto turns towards him.

“What were you saying?”

“Oh!” Akaashi flushes, Bokuto’s gaze too earnest and definitive, unwavering. “Um… Nothing. I was finished.”

“Akaashi…”

And, Christ. Akaashi loves the way Bokuto says his name. (In the beginning, he found it kind of funny, his slight elongation, his slight mispronunciation. Now, it’s sweet, makes a warm, fuzzy, fond feeling bloom in his chest.)

Bokuto reaches for him, kisses him. Now, Akaashi kisses back.

Akaashi feels kind of… ecstatic.

Kissing Bokuto, going home with him, or even the way he memorises the address to his prep school. Talking to him, after school, before school, whenever. Akaashi worries that this feeling in his chest is addictive.

Akaashi walks down the hallway to their classroom, on his way back from gym class, and still feels some sort of pep in his step, feels stupid about it. Until, he hears-

“Bo, are you… Like…?”

Akaashi knows that voice; it’s Bokuto’s friend, Kuroo, he has now learned. Bokuto had told him about his band, all of his friends from middle school, and the very next day he had brought him a picture of them at a concert, grinning like mad men, and pointed out each one of them –  _ this is me, handsome, right? Kuroo, Kenma, Tsukishima.  _ Akaashi can guess that Bokuto’s in the classroom with him, and he knows he should probably go in, it’s probably fine, he shouldn’t eavesdrop, but-

“Akaashi… Akaashi’s not like us, man. He’s… y’know, different.”

“Different?”

Bokuto’s voice. It ignites something in Akaashi, something that clots his throat. It’s done that since the very first day, since Bokuto’s very first note, his very first correction of Akaashi’s singing. Now, though, it makes him feel sick to his stomach. He sounds amused.

“Y’know, it’s like… When the two of you are together, it’s just…”

“Weird?” He chuckles, and Akaashi could vomit.

“Yeah, weird, I guess.”

Bokuto chuckles again. Akaashi’s had enough. He turns around and walks away, misery blocking the entire path from his nose to his lungs. He wishes, actually, that he couldn’t breathe at all. He wishes this would be over already.

Bokuto runs after him once class ends, holding up his umbrella and sheltering Akaashi from the rain as soon as he reaches him. He smiles, and Akaashi hurts. Akaashi looks away, because this is ridiculous, he should say something.

They walk in silence, mostly, the soft pit-pat of the rain on the asphalt nice enough for background noise. They’re usually like this, quiet, because somehow, being around each other is comfortable even without talking. It made Akaashi feel weightless, until yesterday. Now, he hates it, and wishes Bokuto would say something, anything, so that Akaashi could try to be mad at him.

“Bokuto-san, here is far enough,” Akaashi argues when they turn to the street before his prep school’s. It’s a tiny, quaint street, barely wide enough for a car to pass through, usually just empty. The prettiest houses in all of Tokyo are on this street, if you ask Akaashi, with plant pots on windowsills and even subtle gardens.

“What? No, Akaashi, it’s fine.”

“I can walk the rest of the way, it’s just around the corner.”

“Well, and I can walk you to the corner.”

Akaashi sighs, exasperated, and suddenly there’s rain on him. He takes a step back, back under the safety of the umbrella, and looks at Bokuto, realises he’s standing still, looking at him. Bokuto’s eyes are pretty, big and brown. Now, Akaashi doesn’t like them, like they’re eery, creepy. Like they can see right through him – he hates that.

“What?”

Bokuto hums, quietly. Takes a step closer, even though they’re already really close, and Akaashi tenses up. “Akaashi… Can I kiss you?”

“Bokuto-san… No,” Akaashi tries, whispers, but he can’t look away from Bokuto’s lips, can’t stop walking backwards as Bokuto comes closer. He hits a wall. Bokuto’s mouth is a smile, now, and he leans closer to kiss him.

Akaashi allows himself to be kissed, presses back, even. Akaashi kisses him back, but feels that turmoil inside of him. His mind echoes,  _ when the two of you are together, it’s just… weird _ , and he can’t take it anymore.

“No,” he says, firmer, pushing Bokuto away. Bokuto loses his balance, his umbrella drops to the ground, and he stumbles around to catch it.

“Akaashi! Why not?”

“Just no,” Akaashi says, firmer, curt. He keeps going down the street, back on the way to his prep school, and Bokuto follows behind him.

“But, Akaashi! Isn’t that what boyfriends do? Kiss?”

“We’re not boyfriends,” Akaashi says, even if it feels like a knife piercing his lungs.

“No? Then can we be?”

“No,” Akaashi says again, stopping and turning around. Bokuto stops, too, and Akaashi hopes he’ll understand just from his glance that he doesn’t want to be followed any further. “I don’t think we should.”

Akaashi turns again and walks, at first, but runs once the rain starts pouring down heavier. He doesn’t look back, doesn’t check on Bokuto, but feels his heart squeezing, wonders if the rain is following his mood. He steps inside the school, drenched, and wonders if he could just wash away, vanish, evaporate.

Akaashi’s just, like, sad.

All day, all he does is think about Bokuto, all he does is think about what they were, how they were, kissing and holding hands when no one was around, smiling at each other discreetly during class, talking about things that don’t matter. He wonders if being together will only bring heartbreak, if getting sad like this will be something regular. He thinks about how he felt like his body was made of stones after the choir festival, when there was no prospect of Bokuto being in his life ever again. He thinks about feeling like he was floating when Bokuto kissed him, soft and smiling, in the shed.

Akaashi turns to studying, because that’s what he does best. He keeps reminding himself that this is for the better, and now there are no distractions. All he needs to do is stop thinking about Bokuto, and his life will go right back to normal.

He walks with his head down. He bumps into Bokuto on his way inside their classroom.

“Akaashi-!”

Akaashi tries to walk past him, his heart squeezing in his chest, his organs filling with blood and lymph. Bokuto holds his wrist; Akaashi swallows.

“Akaashi.”

“Yes, Bokuto-san?”

“Sensei- he asked you to meet up with him. After class. College counseling.”

Akaashi pulls away from Bokuto’s grip, softly, but it didn’t require any effort at all, Bokuto’s fingers loose as soon as Akaashi tries to get away. He turns around, because his lungs had filled with hope, because it’s all coming crashing down.

“Okay.” He ignores the frantic look on Bokuto’s face, ignores that he looks like words are piling up in the back of his throat. “Thank you.”

Akaashi hates every second of college counseling, because it’s useless – the teacher even says so,  _ I don’t have much to advise you on, just wanted to make sure you’re doing well  _ –, and he wants to go home and be sad. He wants to lie in bed and let tears, small, lonely tears roll down the side of his face and create little wet splashes on his pillow. He wants to lie in bed and forget Bokuto’s ever happened.

Problem is, he leaves school, and Bokuto’s running towards him.

“Akaashi!”

Bokuto comes to a stop merely a foot away from him, panting, and puts his hands on his thighs for support, bending over slightly. He looks up at Akaashi, who feels confusion and heartbreak like spasms, and sighs, pushing back his hair a little (it stays in place, for a second, because of the sweat). He starts talking, starts saying something, but then looks up at the school building and frowns.

“Come with me,” Bokuto says, grabbing Akaashi’s wrist and pulling him along before he has the chance to reply.

Akaashi lets him. Akaashi gets mad at himself for letting him, gets mad at himself for all the hope in the shape of soap bubbles in his stomach.

When Bokuto stops, Akaashi waits for him to say something. Bokuto pulls away, letting go of his wrist, and balls his hands into fists.

“I’m sorry, Akaashi.” He turns back around, and Akaashi wishes he could make both their pains go away. He wishes they could be happily ever after. “I’m sorry for… pressuring you, the other day. For, for everything. And… And I know,” he takes a step closer, and Akaashi feels his heart in his throat, wonders if Bokuto’s feeling like this, too, “I know you said you think we shouldn’t be together, but- Please go out with me, Akaashi. Please.”

Bokuto’s nervous. Akaashi notices he’s sweating, and doesn’t know if it was from running, earlier, or if he is that nervous. If Akaashi makes him that nervous. Akaashi smiles and, when Kuroo and Bokuto’s words start coming to the surface of his thoughts again, he holds them underwater until they drown.

“Yeah. Okay.”

Akaashi barely sees the months passing by. He gets lost in his happiness, gets lost in slow, patient kisses, gets lost in the cold of winter evenings and the slowly dawning spring, yawning, stretching.

He and Bokuto turn into third-years. He and Bokuto go to different classes: no more exchanging looks during class, no more little notes stuffed into the other’s desk. Akaashi’s prep school schedule starts occupying more of his day, more of his week, and he wonders how he’s going to tell Bokuto he’s not going to college in Tokyo.

He wonders how he’ll tell Bokuto that they just might have a timestamp, an expiration date, on… whatever their feelings are.

They’re walking home, one afternoon, and Bokuto mentions he and his friends are disbanding after their next gig.

“Disbanding?”

“Yeah. Tsukishima, you know, he already goes to another school, and now he’s applying for this university that is too far away for us to be a band anymore.”

This is his shot; Akaashi takes a deep breath, and tries, “Since we’re talking about that, Bokuto-san, what are your plans-”

“Ah!” Bokuto turns to him, sharply, and interrupts whatever Akaashi was saying. He’s smiling, so Akaashi doesn’t mind. “Do you want to come?”

“Come?”

“To our gig!” Bokuto hands him the flyer that he had been playing with, folding into a paper airplane with his fingers, and Akaashi unfolds it. “I hadn’t invited you yet. So, this is an invitation.”

“Ah, Bokuto-san, I can’t make it, I have prep school.”

“No, it’s fine! Look, it’s an all-nighter, our band only performs around one a.m, you can come after prep school.”

“Oh.” Akaashi folds the flyer back into a paper plane, and when he looks up at Bokuto, he’s closer than he was before. Akaashi doesn’t mind; instead, he looks at his mouth, briefly, and back up to his eyes. “I’ll come.”

“Yeah?”

Akaashi nods and Bokuto hums, softly.

“And you know you can drop the honorifics, right, Akaashi?”

“Hm, Bokuto-”

Bokuto interrupts him, kisses him slowly. Akaashi notices something new every time Bokuto kisses him. The first few times, he noticed the softness of Bokuto’s breath, of Bokuto’s breathing, then he learned to taste whatever it was that his breath smelled of. Then, he learned to reach up and put his hands on Bokuto’s neck, learned what he could do if he just pushed and pulled the right way, learned what it meant for someone’s breath to hitch and how it felt if someone hummed with their lips against yours.

Bokuto pulls away.

“Can’t wait to have you there.” He turns around, almost like he’s dancing, like he’s hopping. “You’re gonna see – I’m so cool, onstage.”

“You’re cool offstage, too, Bokuto.”

“Akaashi-!”

Akaashi really has never gone to any sort of concert before.

He enters the venue through a red, sticker-ridden fire door, and it astounds him how much it also worked as soundproofing. The noise inside is louder than he’s ever heard, but he still gets used to it after a while. The woman at the reception gives him a free drink ticket and stamps his hand with an ink that glows in the dark, and he wafts through the crowd of people, tall, strong men with face tattoos and slim women with colourful lashes. He feels out of place, feels stupid, a teenage boy still in his high school uniform in the middle of a group of strangers he’d never be around if it weren’t for Bokuto. Somehow, however, no one seems to care; no one double-takes him, no one even frowns. They keep to their own business. It’s nice.

He approaches the bar and follows the guy before him in ordering a beer. He’s tried beer before, it wasn’t a big deal, but this one seems to be more bitter than he remembered, leaving a stronger aftertaste, stuck to the roof of his mouth.

Then, Bokuto comes onstage, and all else seems to fade away.

Bokuto wasn’t lying; he really looks crazy cool onstage. They’re all wearing suits, for some reason, and it makes them look older, makes all of them look handsome. (Akaashi feels a blush rising to his cheeks. He feels unabashed, unafraid.) Akaashi can identify them, too, Tsukishima in the vocals, glasses slipping down his nose but a face of boredom and cockiness, Kenma in the drums, hair falling on top of his eyes but his hands still moving flawlessly, and Kuroo, still his classmate, grinning as he plays the bass. Akaashi hears, even through the music, girls yelling Bokuto’s name near the stage. He sees him bend down to get close to them, sees him wink and smile, sees him go back to his position, hands swift on his guitar.

Akaashi doesn’t even know what words can describe this, all of this. All of what this makes him feel.

He stands still all throughout the concert, wondering if Bokuto can see him, wondering what this must be like for Bokuto. He looks so comfortable, like he’s home, like this is what he’s supposed to be, to do. 

By the time the show’s over, Akaashi’s beer has gone warm, but he holds his cup, still, since he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, doesn’t know what to do with himself. He breathes in, watches the empty stage, now that the lights are back on. The crowd has dispersed, small groups of people chatting away, and he wonders if he should go home, if he should go looking for Bokuto.

Except, he hears, “Come on, Yukippe, it’s now or never! Either you talk to Koutarou-san now, or you’ll regret this for the rest of your life.”

He looks to the side, subtly, and sees two girls talking, a tall one with light brown hair frowning, her face freckled, and her friend next to her, her hair an artificial shade of maroon, her face pink, looking to the side. They’re talking about Bokuto. Akaashi feels like he’s eavesdropping, again, but he can’t help it.

“But, Kaori!”

“No, no buts, let’s go, come on.” The tall girl starts pushing her friend through a door, the same shade of red as the entrance, except this one reads  _ backstage _ . Akaashi’s gut turns, wrenches; he follows them, discreet.

He hears Bokuto’s voice, faint, as soon as he goes through the door. It warms his chest in a weird way, to hear his laughter, tired and strained but still there. He hears him greet the girls, hears the tall one say, “Excuse me, Koutarou-san, do you have a second?”

“Yeah, yeah! What’s up?”

“Come on, Yukippe!”

“Um, excuse me, Koutarou-san… I just, just wanted to ask, um…”

Akaashi freezes.

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

Akaashi’s brain goes blank, rips apart, so fast it gives him whiplash. He blinks, swallows, but he can’t really hear anything, his ears ringing loudly, weirdly. He stands up – when did he crouch? –, his legs weak and wobbly, but gains his strength as he walks away. It seems, in fact, like he gets stronger, more determined, more energetic, the further he gets from Bokuto.

He downs his beer, he throws the cup away. He leaves, rushes down the stairs with his hands on the handrails because his legs are still weak, he still feels prone to missteps. Akaashi walks through Tokyo, his heart beating fast, the rhythm of his pulse like a bass drum in his ears, pumping fresh, boiling blood into his arteries.

His phone rings in his pocket and he picks it up to check the caller. He sticks it right back into his pocket as soon as he reads Bokuto’s name, and lets it ring, muffled by the fabric. Once it stops, he exhales softly, but it starts ringing again. This time, he silences it, but it won’t stop vibrating; he refuses the call, and tries to figure out how to turn the vibration off. (Bokuto rings him three times while he’s still trying, and stops calling him before Akaashi figures it out. Searching through his phone is difficult, Akaashi finds, when his already mildly-myopic vision has gone even blurrier, his processing speed even slower.)

Akaashi doesn’t know where he’s going, walking into blind alleys and following no main road, choosing random corners to turn at, watching the neon lights around him switch colors, bright, blinking.

He trips when he reaches a playground, falls to his knees inside the sandbox. He rolls around in it until he’s lying on his back, his jacket surely coated with sand, but he can’t find it in himself to care.

His phone vibrates in his pocket again, after a little while. He pulls it out and there’s no display name, just a number; he picks up the phone, and before he even gets it close to his ear, he hears a voice, “Where are you? Akaashi!” It sounds like Bokuto, but he can’t be sure. There’s still that mild, high-pitched ringing in his ears. He’s still groggy, soggy with beer and tears that he never got to cry.

“Some- some park’s sandbox,” he says and, before he’s even finished, the line trails off. He lets his phone drop to the sand and closes his eyes, the night sky his confidant, thinking,  _ I can still let it go, I can still get over it. I can still live a life, distraction-free. _

He might have fallen asleep during the minutes before he heard the running; he’s not sure. Either way, he hears running, and can barely sit up before Bokuto jumps on top of him, hugging him tight like he has no other option.

“Bokuto-san… Bokuto. Let go.”

“No,” Bokuto says, whines into his shoulder, then reaches up and kisses him.

The thing is, Bokuto kisses him like he never had before. He kisses him with his eyebrows furrowed, kisses him like it demands so much effort. Akaashi’s taken aback, at first, but then closes his eyes. That’s when Bokuto becomes demanding, opening his mouth and kissing him deep, all tongue and jaw, pushing and pressing. It’s new, but Akaashi finds he likes it.

Bokuto pulls away, “Was I cool? Were you there?”

“You were…” Akaashi can’t find the words; speaking is hard, and he didn’t know the words for all of it from the start.

“Akaashi! Did you drink?” Bokuto asks, smiling, like it’s a nice change. Like it’s an accomplishment.

Akaashi takes a little while to process all the syllables, all the sounds, but ends with a “Possibly.”

“Akaashi…” Bokuto leans his head against Akaashi’s shoulder, and Akaashi can feel his smile against his skin, even through the layers of fabric.

Akaashi can feel a lot of things. He can still feel the heartbreak, the anxiety, not-yet-dissipated inside his ribcage.

“Bokuto-san… Why are you with me?” He pauses and Bokuto looks up, confused, sad, even. Akaashi looks away, because he has a point, and he wants to finish. “Is it… Is it fun? Hanging around a nerd, a, a- uh… A guy, going out with-”

“Akaashi, I’ll get mad. Please stop.”

“Bokuto-san…”

Bokuto kisses him again, shorter, but conveying just as much emotion. He kisses him, quick. “Stop. C’mon, Akaashi! You’re- Stop worrying about these things, geez! You think too much! I was so worried about you, God, you wouldn’t answer my calls! I didn’t know what to do with myself! Akaashi…” He pauses and his eyes turn serious, earnest, like he really, really wants Akaashi to believe him. “You’re my number one, Akaashi. You’re above them all. Now and forever.”

Akaashi processes that for a second, wide-eyed and pink-faced, and reaches forward to kiss Bokuto. He hasn’t really done that, much, Bokuto usually finding himself guilty of wanting kisses and kissing first, so he can tell when Bokuto tenses up, surprised. He can also tell when Bokuto smiles against his lips, reaches for his face, pulling him closer.

Kissing Bokuto is even nicer when there’s that buzz under the tips of Bokuto’s fingers, because Akaashi kissed him first, because he feels freer to do what he wants. Akaashi slides a little closer, to make his position more comfortable, and Bokuto takes his hands away from his face and rests them at his waist. He slides down, slowly, to his hips, and sneaks them up his shirt. Akaashi freezes, and pulls away when Bokuto starts reaching up his back.

“Bokuto-san? What are you doing?”

Bokuto hums and kisses a spot beneath Akaashi’s chin, playfully. He whispers, “Experimenting. Nice?” He gently runs his index finger up Akaashi’s spine, who shivers with goosebumps and comes a little closer.

“Yeah, um, kinda weird. Bokuto-san-”

“Bokuto, yeah?” Bokuto splays his fingers, brushes his hands gently up Akaashi’s back. His thumbs catch on his scapulas, and he traces their edges, tenderly.

“Bokuto- That’s-”

“I read, somewhere,” Bokuto interrupts him, doesn’t pay him any attention, “that scapula are what’s left of our wings. Angel.”

Akaashi shivers again, at the pet name, and leans forward. He hides his face in Bokuto’s shoulder, and he smells so good, is so warm. For a spring night, it’s still so awfully cold. Akaashi won’t mind being in Bokuto’s arms, like this.

“Nice?” Bokuto asks again.

“It’s- Yeah. Yeah.”

“Kiss?”

Akaashi turns his head, still resting on Bokuto’s shoulder, and he’s looking down at him. Akaashi moves just a little, and they’re kissing. Bokuto’s hands are so warm. His touch is so nice.

Even later, in his bed, Akaashi can hear it, even with his eyes closed and his head nearly empty, nearly asleep. He can hear it.

_ You’re my number one. _

“Akaashi.”

Akaashi lifts his hand, stops writing for a second.

“What are you doing for the summer?”

“Summer school.”

Bokuto turns his head around, shifts his arms and supports his head on them in a different way. Akaashi thinks, this might be his chance, this might be it, “Are you attending a prep school, too, or-”

“Won’t you get lonely?” Bokuto turns his head again and his eyes are sleepy, still dead focused on Akaashi. It’s a little embarrassing. “You want to meet up, to see me, right?”

“Of course.” He closes his notebook, puts it back underneath his desk. Bokuto reaches for him, sits up, and kisses him.

Summer kisses feel, taste differently to fall, winter, or even spring kisses. Summer kisses are warmer, cicadas singing, the comfort of the cooler classroom with the off-white curtains, the chalk dust beneath the blackboard, the notices pinned to the corkboard. Summer kisses are refreshing when they have to be, and piping hot when they need to. Summer kisses are worrying.

Akaashi can’t stop thinking about them.

He thinks of them during class, on his way home, while he studies.

He’s still thinking about them when he finds Bokuto waiting for him when he’s on his way home from prep school.

“Hey,” Bokuto says. He looks unnerved, looks like he’s way deeper in thought than he’s ever been. He asks Akaashi to come with him somewhere, and Akaashi follows, doesn’t even ask any questions. Akaashi notices that he’s quiet, his hands are deep in his pockets, his gaze set down to his feet. Akaashi notices red flag after red flag, but doesn’t say a thing, doesn’t want to turn his worries into reality.

They go back to where they met up the day before the choir festival, back to where they had their first kiss. Akaashi feels nostalgic, a nice cosy feeling in his gut, and hopes this means there are good news. Hopes this means something, anything, other than what he fears it does.

Bokuto is the one who goes to the vending machines and buys sparkling water, this time, for the good old days. He comes back and says, “They only had it in lemon flavour,” but Akaashi still takes it with a quiet  _ thank you. _

Akaashi can’t help but notice how distant Bokuto is, even sitting feet away from him, almost too far away to touch. He can’t help but notice how there’s nothing on Bokuto’s face that even resembles the smile he always sports, the grin he offers everyone like it takes nothing out of him.

“I heard…” Akaashi turns to look at him, turns to see the way Bokuto is testing, trying every word inside his mouth before he speaks. “I heard you’re going to college in Osaka.”

“Bokuto-”

“It’s true?” Bokuto turns to him, too, and Akaashi nods slowly. Bokuto stands, and Akaashi can’t move, only following him with his eyes and head. “It’s true…” He sighs, walks forward, like he’s tip-toeing away from Akaashi. Like he wants to be as far as he can be. “Since when? When did you decide?”

“I’ve always wanted it… My parents met in Osaka. I’ve always planned on going there.”

“But you never planned on telling me,” Bokuto says, the conversation taking a turn that buzzes Akaashi awake. “Even though we’re together, even though…” He trails off. Akaashi wonders what word he wants, what he’s trying to say, why he can’t say it. “You never planned on telling me.”

“Bokuto, it’s not like that-”

Bokuto turns around, and it rips Akaashi’s heart from his chest to see a the line of a tear glistening on his face, tearing his cheek in two. “If I hadn’t found out – by accident –, you would’ve never… We would’ve just…”

Akaashi stands, tentative, desperate. “Bokuto, please-”

“You just avoided the issue, Akaashi, you didn’t make it go away. You hoped we wouldn’t have to talk about it, wouldn’t have to fight about it, hoped we’d grow apart before you had to deal with it. You were just hoping things would end between us before the time came to end them yourself.”

Akaashi shoves him, horrified, knowing those words are far from the truth, and Bokuto stumbles backwards, almost falls down. He reaches for his shoulder, touches it like it hurts, and looks back up at Akaashi, his eyes an evil mix of emotions. Akaashi doesn’t want to look at him.

“It’s not like you told me, either! Bokuto, I don’t know what you want to be, what you want to do. I don’t know anything about you, either.”

The silence is deafening.

Akaashi feels the hurt in his throat throbbing, pulsating, the words leaving blood in their wake, until Bokuto goes, “Okay.” Bokuto walks past him, and Akaashi doesn’t look back. Akaashi doesn’t want to look at him. “It seems we really don’t know each other at all. So, let’s just… Not be with each other. For now.”

He drops his sparkling water to the ground, and Akaashi hears his steps fading out as he walks away. After a while, all he hears is the water pouring out of the bottle, fizzling on the ground. After a while, all he hears is the beating of his own heart.

Studying’s easier without Bokuto to worry about.

Akaashi feels like his days are much longer when he isn’t spending them talking to Bokuto on the phone or through texts, when he isn’t thinking about summer kisses and Bokuto’s hair when he just got out of the shower. There’s still the bother of hearing Bokuto’s voice in his head, of playing that last encounter over and over again in his brain, but he’s working towards getting that out of his head. He’s working on it. He’s working on it.

He takes the subway, and all he can hear is,  _ you never planned on telling me _ ,  _ you were just hoping things would end between us before the time came to end them yourself _ ,  _ let’s not be with each other for now _ . All he hears is all the words he could’ve said, should’ve said, and the blue, cold feeling in his chest that Bokuto’s absence left behind.

Akaashi keeps studying. He stays up late doing math exercises, and his mom brings him tea and an assortment of good luck, good job, and I love you’s. He walks to summer school every day, the morning not yet so hot but still much hotter than he wished it was, all his thoughts going towards a dream he had in which the sun was a ceiling fan. (It’s nicer to think about this than to think about  _ it seems we really don’t know each other at all _ .)

He gets up early in the morning to attend a mock exam, and his mother pats him on the back and wishes him the best of luck. Akaashi smiles and tells her not to worry, tells her he’ll be fine. He’s still nervous, anxiety buzzing quietly inside of him like his bone marrow’s white noise, but he’ll be fine.

In the train station, he can’t help but pick up his phone and check his missed calls, look through his contacts. He checks the date, and thinks about the choir festival, happening one year ago yesterday. Thinks about soft summer kisses when they just started dating, thinks about Bokuto’s throat shifting as he sang, thinks of shaky hands and sheet music and second-year immaturity.

He wishes Bokuto would talk to him. Wishes he had it in him to talk to Bokuto. He wishes either of them would just break this fucking silence already.

Bokuto’s words keep replaying in his head, even when he’s on the train, even when his phone is tucked away in his pocket. He keeps replaying all the times he tried to tell him, too, all the times he wasn’t blunt enough, all the times he didn’t keep trying after Bokuto interrupted him. His mind races, races, trying to look for traces or clues, trying to see if the subject ever really surfaced, trying to run through every time they met up, every conversation they had. If he was anxious about the exam, all this does is make him sick. A headache pulsates slowly into existence, his heart racing, a burning sensation like bile coming up his throat. He crouches near the train door, trying to get some space, trying to get some air, and breathes in shakily.

He tries to go to happier places. He tries to get himself to relax, but the only good thing that comes to his head is, well, Bokuto. Sunlit Bokuto, sunshine Bokuto. His soft smiles before he kissed him, his hands moving swiftly that one time he played Akaashi a song on the acoustic guitar. Akaashi thinks of how he is stronger than he looks, layers of muscle hidden underneath their uniforms. His heart keeps racing. Thinking of Bokuto brings back  _ I heard you’re going to college in Osaka, since when, even though… _

His phone vibrates in his pocket. He pulls it out, desperate, because he’s sick with the hopes that it’ll be Bokuto – he picks it up without checking the caller.

Bokuto’s voice bursts through the receiver, and it works both in soothing and speeding Akaashi’s heart. “Ah, finally! I’ve been trying to call you, it wouldn’t connect- Where are you, right now?”

“In a train,” Akaashi says, quietly, through gritted teeth. The train sways, and he thinks he might be sick any time now.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“Not feeling great- I think I’m leaving at the next station.”

“Which?”

Akaashi tells him. Akaashi feels like he’s going to faint.

Imagine something like this:

Akaashi’s wrist, tied to Bokuto’s by a ribbon. Akaashi lifts his hand, turns his arm, looks at the way it glistens, prettily, fancily.

“Yellow?” He asks, pulling it a little closer to his eyes. It makes Bokuto stumble forward, but he doesn’t complain, just laughs.

“Yeah! I think it’s nice. Lemon yellow… Summer-y, no? Fresh?”

“I guess…”

Imagine, voices calling for Akaashi. He doesn’t know where they’re coming from, doesn’t know whose they are. He looks around, but all he sees is him and Bokuto. Like that’s his whole world.

“They’re calling for you,” Bokuto says.

“Yeah, but-”

And, all of a sudden, imagine Bokuto holding scissors; all of a sudden, he cuts the ribbon, and Akaashi frowns.

“Why did you do that?”

“Well, they’re calling for you, aren’t they?”

“Still. I thought you liked it.” Akaashi lifts his wrist again, feeling the lightness of not being tied to someone. He doesn’t think he likes it.

“I mean, we can tie it again, can’t we? It’s not like the colour’s going to change.”

Then, they’re calling for Akaashi again, despite Bokuto's smile, despite the softness in his eyes. Imagine him, waking up.

“Akaashi!”

The first thing he sees is Bokuto’s face, dead worried, eyes wide. He opens his eyes, slowly, and Bokuto’s entire face relaxes, all at once.

“Ah! Thank God! I was so worried. Why are you in your uniform? Where were you going?”

Akaashi checks his wrist, looks for the ribbon, as the tiny crowd of worried grown-ups around them dissipates. Instead of the ribbon, he sees his watch. It reads nine thirty.

“I have-” He tries to stand up, his legs still weak, and Bokuto helps him up, holds him close, his face still a bit worried. “I have a mock exam, at ten, I have a-”

“I’ll take you,” Bokuto says, and Akaashi can taste the difference in stability between the two of them. Can feel it, with his arm draped around Bokuto’s shoulders, the way Bokuto is now like his rock, like his anchor. “Don’t worry, Akaashi.”

Bokuto’s on a motorcycle; he says something about how he rented it at an inn in the countryside, how he got his license. Akaashi’s still too dizzy to understand. Bokuto says something else, about an onsen, about going there together, some time, but Akaashi just climbs on the bike and hugs his waist tightly.

“I’m sorry," Bokuto says when they're on the road. It’s a bit hard to hear his voice with the wind, but he speaks loud and clear.

Akaashi frowns, “What for?”

“I got… Mad at you, for so little. I guess… I saw you moving on with your life, growing up, planning your future, and felt bad for not knowing what I wanted to do. Got defensive. So I decided to move on, too. To grow up.”

Akaashi leans his head closer, a little to hear better and a little just to get closer. He missed Bokuto so much, being this close to him now is so gratifying.

“I think… I know no one lives a fully happy life. I know you need sadness to be happy, and regrets and mistakes are what allow you to grow up, to mature. But life’s so much about the happy things, too. And, with how much you make me happy, Akaashi… I just can’t think about not being with you. At least not right now.”

Akaashi leans even closer. Akaashi’s heart is calm, now, slow and steady. All his worries feel like they were left behind in that train station.

“I… feel the same way.”

Akaashi wonders if Bokuto can feel other words hanging in the air, wonders if there’s an  _ I love you  _ on the tip of his tongue just like there is one on Akaashi’s.

“Don’t cut the ribbon so easily,” Akaashi says, instead.

“Ribbon?”

They get to the school of the mock exam with five minutes to spare. Akaashi has never felt so serene, so levelheaded, in his life.

“Five minutes, do you think you’ll make it?”

Akaashi climbs off the motorbike and hands Bokuto the helmet. He doesn’t go anywhere, yet. “I will.”

“Relaxed? Prepared?”

“Yeah. Bokuto?”

Bokuto takes off his own helmet, looks up, and Akaashi kisses him, quickly.

(It’s such a public place. They’ve never kissed exposed like this before. And yet, Akaashi doesn’t mind. They haven’t kissed in so long. They haven’t been together in so long. Akaashi misses him, misses him, misses him.)

“I’m off.”

The exam is a blur. The exam is papers shuffling, pencils squeaking, clocks ticking. The exam is something Akaashi can handle, even at a time he can’t handle himself.

He finds Bokuto snoozing near his bike when he exits the exam, crowds of teenagers chatting everywhere. Bokuto wakes up when Akaashi sits next to him, and stretches.

“Hnn- How did it go?”

“No idea,” Akaashi says, his knees pulled up to his chest and his forehead resting on top of them. “But it doesn’t matter. If I’ve got you, then… I don’t need much more.”

“Akaashi…”

Bokuto leans close and nudges him with his head, like a puppy wanting a pat on the head. “I want to kiss.”

“Not right now. Too many people.”

Bokuto groans, quietly, “Yeah, I figured,” pulling away.

Akaashi lifts his head. Akaashi figures, ah, fuck it.

Akaashi kisses him, because he can’t get himself not to. Today has already had such a toll on him, he can’t stand not kissing Bokuto, not touching him. He doesn’t care about the people, about the exam, about his future. He kisses Bokuto, quickly, because that’s the least he can do after this hell of a day.

“One more,” Bokuto whispers, once Akaashi pulls away.

Akaashi just pushes him a little, rolls his eyes, and won’t stop smiling.

Akaashi stops to think about how Bokuto’s his first love. One summer evening, with the fan on max and the window wide open, he lies shirtless on his bed, and thinks.

His voice is sore from being on the phone with Bokuto, from hearing him talk about how he’s been experimenting with this computer program for editing music, from hearing him talk about gigs and meetings Yukippe’s trying to get him (turns out that she wanted to start a career as a music agent, besides go out with Bokuto. And Bokuto had told her from the start that he was already in a relationship, Akaashi just hadn’t been there to hear it). Bokuto can talk about so much, so freely, and Akaashi can listen to him talking about it forever. Akaashi can talk back, talk about literature and writing and editing, talk about the courses he’ll hopefully be taking by the time spring comes, talk about the exams he still has before summer ends.

In the beginning, over a year ago, Bokuto made him bashful. Akaashi watched him closely, but from afar. Akaashi memorised the way he would go through notes, memorised his singing voice, his mannerisms. Bokuto was unreachable. Bokuto was his first love.

Now, Akaashi goes to sleep with his head tired and his heart full, of slow, open-mouthed kisses, of playing with Bokuto’s hair. He spends his days studying with so many distractions, but he’s happy like this. He likes the evenings, the still-overly-warm evenings of talking to Bokuto on the phone for more hours than he should, not caring about the phone bill at the end of the month and all the explaining he’ll have to do. Akaashi can go to sleep without any worries, without sadness or heartbreak. It’s been a bumpy road, a journey filled with skyscraper highs and seabed lows, but it’s been worth it.

Akaashi closes his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for getting to the end and reading through this fic! i love doukyuusei to bits, it's been one of my favourite movies for years now, and i hope i did it justice. if you've never watched the film or read the manga, i absolutely suggest you do so asap, because it'll also give you an insight on little gaps present in this story (although some bits i consciously cut out or changed). thank you, too, if you read more than one of my bokuaka week fics – i've been writing thousands of words every day for two weeks, and i'm so glad i managed to pull through.  
> thank you, thank you, thank you, if you read, if you left a kudo, a comment, a bookmark, or if you came to talk to me on twitter (@kenhinabot). i really hope you liked this one :)


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